


The Hungry Girl

by delgaserasca



Category: Killjoys (TV)
Genre: Backstory, Character Study, Gen, Storytelling, cw: gendered slurs, history as myth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 05:51:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13047813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delgaserasca/pseuds/delgaserasca
Summary: When the nights were long, and the days were deep, there lived a girl with an appetite so wild that she would not be denied whatever her hunger demanded. A story about Delle Seyah Kendry, and what her people bequeathed her. (Content warning: one gendered slur. No worse than canon, but still.)





	The Hungry Girl

**Author's Note:**

  * For [millepertuis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/millepertuis/gifts).



> Dear millepertuis, Happy Yuletide! This is... not quite what you asked for, but I'm offering it up as a bonus gift. I hope you get something out of it regardless.

_you could be the king / but watch the queen conquer_

 

  
When the nights were long, and the days were deep, there lived a girl with an appetite so wild that she would not be denied whatever her hunger demanded. 

When she woke in the morning, she walked where she wished. When she came to the bower, she ate of the fruits. When she came to the river, she drank her fill, reached deep into the current and pulled out a fish to sup. Everything the light landed upon was hers to take, and so she took. She took breath, she took time, she took a stallion and rode him as far west as the day would go, hungry for all she had yet to see.

Whatever she saw was hers to take, and she aimed to see the world.

 

  
It is the Qreshi custom to be seated in order of honour to the home, and this is the first night young Delle Kendry will dine at the family seat. She’s been practising the toasts in private; has spied the family meal countless times, watching as first grandfather, then Mother, then Father, and then the family take their places. Tonight, as the youngest and further from the Seyon, Delle will sit last. 

Something’s afoot in the Council of the Nine; this much is evident. Grandfather returned home early in the morning, stern-browed and mean, spitting at the Leithian maids and taking after their ankles with his cane. Delle steps back from the window as he marches into the house, careful to be a shadow. She is fleet-footed, and quiet, and meek in the presence of the Seyon; barely seen, and never heard. 

All day the house is alight with whispers. When the cook sends the stabler’s son for more meat, Delle realises there will be a meal, and when she seeks out Mother she learns that rooms are being readied. That means the whole family will be arriving in short order, which is unusual because it’s not a Feast Day, and the Kendry clan prefers to keep out from under each others feet. The Seyon hasn’t been seen since his return at first light, but everywhere hands turn to tasks, sweeping dust, proving loaves, and picking flowers. 

In the south wing of the great house, Delle finds Aunt Saiyra surveying the estate. Saiyra is betrothed to a man in the lesser ranks, some son of the nobility who has no title, and therefore is of no real interest to her. When Delle had asked her aunt why she was marrying, Saiyra had given the dry, if somewhat bitter, Kendry answer: “The land lives on, little queen. Honour first; then desire.” Today, though, there’s a lashing of delight across her features, a cruel but pleasing turn to her lips. Saiyra is nothing if not good for sport, and like any Kendry, she plays to win. When she catches sight of Delle, she calls her closer.

“You get to dine at the table tonight, little queen,” she says, her hands warm through the fine linen covering Delle’s arms. “Did anyone tell you?” Saiyra crouches until she and Delle are eye-to-eye. “Tonight you’ll take your seat with the rest of us. Are you pleased?” Her perfectly manicured nails scratch a course down Delle’s face as she sweeps a fond finger over her cheek, cupping her chin. Her hands are soft and uncalloused, just like Mother’s. “I’ve been telling Ankara you’ve been ready all year, but you know your mother. She likes to do things in her own time.” Saiyra grins, vicious and wicked and lovely. “Well. It’s time now.”

 

  
Delle would have asked what Saiyra meant, except Mother’s housewoman found them and tucked her away, ready to dress for company. Mother was nowhere to be found, and anyway, never liked to answer questions. She’d spent her life as the Seyon’s shadow, something that rankled Saiyra and Delle’s uncles. Mother is stern and pragmatic, and unbending. Delle loves her, but she knows better than to show it. 

The family arrives in droves, brought to the door in landloper after loper, kicking up the dust outside the house and shaking the foliage as they hover above the lawns. Hidden away from sight, Delle watches as her uncles arrive, their wives in tow, then Mother’s cousins, and even grandfather’s sister, wizened battleaxe that she is. No-one is certain why they have been called. “What on Qresh would make him bring us all here at the same time?” asks one of the aunts, a sickly little woman that Saiyra and Mother hate in equal measure. 

“You don’t know?” That’s Father, come in from the outhouse to welcome the guests. 

“Don’t you?” asks the aunt. 

“No point muttering about it in the door,” says Saiyra, ushering everyone in. She shoots a glance upstairs. “Come down now, little queen.”

Father’s waiting at the foot of the stair when Delle trips down, and he gives her a worried glance before he hides it, smiling genially. Father is the only person in the house that smiles when no-one’s looking. “That’s how you know he married in,” Saiyra was fond of saying. Delle knows better than to smile back.

“Your first meal,” says Father, making to reach for her before something catches his eye over her shoulder, and he reconsiders. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, whether to put them in his pockets - uncouth - or worry at his suit. In the end he settles for putting them at his sides like a soldier on parade. His collar is askew, which ruins the effect. Delle waits by his side until it’s time to go to the table.

Everyone is standing when they enter, waiting, as is custom, for Mother and grandfather to be announced. There is a seat to the Seyon’s right that has been left empty for Mother, and which has been her right since grandmother’s passing, years before Delle was born. Normally Father would take his place next to her, and Delle would be tasked to sit to _his_ right, except Saiyra is there, and there is an empty seat at the foot of the table. No-one is sure what to do, but Saiyra ushers Delle to stand in Father’s place before he can make up his mind, and that leaves the chair at the far end for him. He seems to falter in place, but recovers quickly, moving to take the empty space. Delle clenches her firsts in uncertainty, but when she glances up at Saiyra, her aunt is smiling, so she reaches out to lift her glass for the toast. No-one speaks.

“Mistress of the House, Ankara Sey Kendry.”

When Mother enters, she sweeps to her seat without a glance in Delle or Father’s direction. She’s wreathed in purple, and her hands are heavy with rings, one for every role she inhabits. There isn’t a seam out of place on her gown, nor a hair loose from the elaborate coif on her head. Saiyra and Delle’s uncles raise their glasses in the traditional toast. _Long may your shores remain._ No-one sits. Mother had taught Delle a long time ago that Land Kendry do not stand, then give way, then stand, then give way in the manner of the other Nine. “We don’t dance at the table, Delle. We’re not monkeys.”

“Lord of the Land, Son of the Nine, protector of the soil and sea, Medasas Seyon Kendry.”

Grandfather enters solemnly, and takes his seat. His face is drawn with shadows; the crags and hollows of his jowls look like poorly healed scars. Delle swallows, trying her best not to shake, or worry at her lip. The old man takes his time, resting his cane against the table, and shaking out his napkin. Delle can sense the aunts’ impatience even though their seats are further down the dining hall, and even Saiyra is unsettled, standing uncommonly still at Delle’s side.

Seyon nods; Mother places a firm hand on Delle’s shoulder and then they are both seated, despite the shocked rustle of fabric leading all the way down the table. Mother doesn’t meet Delle’s questioning gaze, and Grandfather makes no protest. Saiyra sits without ceremony, as though nothing is out of the ordinary, and so, after a moment, the others follow suit. 

Father sits last.

Throughout dinner, Delle tries to make sense of what has happened. This is not the way. Honour first to the Seyon, then to his kin in order of rank, then to their line, and then to the child. Everything is wrong. Everything is misplaced. But the Seyon hasn’t protested, and Mother speaks gently with grandfather’s sister, so the meal goes on. No-one questions. No-one dares.

 

The hungry girl rode west, following the sun and moons as they danced across the sky. She travelled over mountains and between the hills, across the rivers and through forests, and everything she saw she claimed her own, until she met the sea.

Upon the shore was a castle, and in the castle there lived a prince. The prince was handsome, and rich, and hungry. He owned the sand beneath her feet, the ships upon the shore, and the sea beneath those ships. The girl was told that he had much to his name, and all that he had, she saw. 

All that he had, she desired.

But the prince was betrothed to a princess, a daughter of high birth who would share in his home and so share in his wealth. And so the hungry girl learned that one who hungers must also hunt, and she who hunts must know more than she that is prey.

 

Delle Seyah’s mother was the first-born daughter of Medasas Seyon Kendry and his noble wife. They named her Ankara because she was born on Qreshi soil by a hearty Leithian Vessel when Arkyn was full in the night sky. She was the natural heir to the land, and was gifted all associated honours that came with the deeds.

Delle’s father was the second-born son of a lesser kin to the Nine - a Hyponian by birth, but not by name. He’d been placed as an adjunct to the Council of the Nine where he’d met Ankara whilst she shadowed Seyon Kendry as he handled Company affairs. When Delle had asked, Saiyra had told her that it was a love match, but a political one nonetheless. The Kendrys and the Hyponias had been at odds since the War of the Nines, and a match between them would bring about an accord. Moreover, as adjunct, Delle’s father held considerable sway in the council. He was charming but respectful, and well-liked. To have him on-side would be a coup.

Despite the Seyon’s misgivings, which were many but unspecified, the match was agreed.

It was agreed by the rest of the Nine that Ankara Seyah’s ascent to power couldn’t come too soon. Where Seyon Kendry was coarse, she was smooth; where he was sour, she was sweet. Where her father made enemies and broke bones, Ankara Seyah mended bridges and built roads. Beautiful, balanced, benign. 

But Ankara Seyah was still a Kendry, and it was an error to underestimate her.

 

A visitor arrives during the second course.

Delle eats piecemeal and quietly whilst the adults make conversation around her, and she notices that her uncles startle when the housemaster interrupts dinner. She also notices that grandfather is unperturbed. Mother, however, stills imperceptibly. There’s a messenger at the door, and he wishes to speak to Father.

“Bring him in.”

Delle risks a glance down the table to where Father has dropped his napkin on his plate. Saiyra is watching as well, glass of hokk in hand, but Mother and grandfather have both put down their cutlery. It’s well known that Seyon Kendry does not endure interruptions, be it to sleep, his schedule, or his meals. To have a stranger invited in to the dining hall doesn’t bode well for anyone. The aunts are shuffling in their seats, and Delle can see that one of Mother’s cousins is gaping, mouth open like a stupid fish. 

When the visitor enters, it’s some off-worlder, maybe a Westerlyn, though just as likely from outside the Quad. He gives an awkward half-bow to the Seyon, and then falters, uncertain of his welcome. Grandfather gestures to the end of the room, and the man starts again, clutching at something that Delle can’t see. He doesn’t seem to want to turn his back on the Seyon, but Father is to the rear of the hall, and so at some point he has to decide, whether to walk backwards the entire way, or to turn and deliver his news.

Time slows, then, for Delle Seyah, and even in her later years she’ll remember every second as though it had taken place in front of her only moments before. The messenger commits at last to his destination, and Father makes to stand and meet him before thinking the better of it, and returning to his seat. The man bends low to whisper into Father’s ear, and Father-- 

Delle was born into a family of such standing that loss was not something she had ever entertained. She had read about it, in the histories and those romances that Saiyra always seemed to have on hand, but she had never seen it, nor borne it. She’d been born after her grandmother’s death, and though she knew that it had put a weight on the family, she had never known any different, and so did not know what Mother or grandfather or even Saiyra looked like without it on their shoulders.

She can see it now, some crushing blow that has struck her father clean across the face. He’s never been able to hide his feelings, and so is open to her, and the family, like a novel. He pales; he ages in front of her all at once, every line on his face in stark relief. Even though he’s seated, he seems to fall back, as though pushed abruptly into sitting. He looks up; he looks past Delle. He looks to Seyon Kendry, and then Ankara, and he withers. 

Mother does not move. Had Delle not known she was there, she would think Mother had disappeared into thin air like a holospectre. Everyone is watching Father. 

“Well?” Seyon Kendry asks, his baritone breaking the silence like a shot in the night. “What news from the Council?”

 

When the nights were long, and the days were deep, the hungry girl drew a line in the sand under her feet and called it her door. “I am a guest of this land,” said she to the highborn princess, “and here I make a semblance of my home, so that I might greet you, and take your hands, and call you sister.”

The princess was charmed by the hungry girl’s play, and not seeing the depth of her desires, agreed to be a guest at her door. Meeting at the line in the sand, she reached out her hands so that they could be clasped in return, made a gift of her presence, and stepped forward into the hungry girl’s domain.

Whatever she sees, she desires; whatever she desires, she devours. 

Come the dawn, the princess was no more, and the prince no more betrothed. The hungry girl wed the prince. All that she had seen had once been his, and all that once was his was now hers too. 

 

Two things happen that night on Qresh. The first is heard by all of the Nine, and in the morning the news breaks across the Quad. The Nine agree it is a terrible thing that young Vida Lahani, only child of the Lahani line, should have killed herself and in such a bloody and terrible way. She was known to have been a troubled girl, melancholy in nature, small and dull-eyed. In private, amongst their own, the families agree that the Lahanis have been saved from a greater dishonour. Unlike Ankara Seyah, Vida was not born to be a queen. Better that she never inherited at all. Company politics are a bloodsport, and Vida would have been an easy kill.

The second does not leave Kendry land. 

Father, mournful and disgraced, takes to his rooms which are in the west wing of the house, far from where Mother and Saiyra make their beds, and with Seyon Kendry’s quarters in-between. In a few days, Seyon Kendry will make his apologies for his son-in-law who has taken to bed with fever; in a few weeks, Father will tender his resignation as adjunct, claiming some unnamed sickness that leaves him housebound. The Council will agree that Ankara Seyah, as his wife, and as a stabilising influence on fragile tempers, may accede his position and responsibilities. Father will fade into obscurity; he will never have a name again. 

“Do you understand, Delle?” Mother asks. “Your father has relinquished his right to my name. He’s no more a Kendry than that Lahani whore is a queen.”

The prince in the story has no name because the prince is not a man, but a power, and eventually the hungry girl consumes that power and makes it her own. He is simply a means to an end. “Every now and then,” says Saiyra, telling the story again, “you have to get your hands dirty to get what you want.” This she directs at Delle. “That’s the moral of the story.”

These are Delle Seyah’s people: the hungry; the wicked; the victorious.

**Author's Note:**

> Epigraph from Kanye West _Monster_ (ft. Jay-Z, Rick Ross, Nicki Minaj  & Bon Iver)


End file.
